Empty Luminosity: A Lux Story
by DivvyRAWR
Summary: An insight to my take on Lux. A sadder look at a cheery soul. An experimentation with writing format. Enjoy?


My gloved hands tremble as I slide on my trademark armor, snapping the breast plate in place. Thinking of the recurring nightmare of my past, which woke me from sleep at four; it's now six and the sun is peaking over the window in my apartment in the institute. The dawn always settles my shaky movements. Perhaps it was due to my affinity to light, or maybe because it flushed away thoughts of the dark truck the Demacian military placed me in that fateful evening, I was never sure. Reliving that night, when I was taken from my family because I was some sort of prodigy, was the nightmare which jarred me from the peace of sleep. How could my parents allow that? They had already taken my brother, wasn't one Crownguard enough? These were the usual questions that raced through my mind every night I was stirred from sleep by this dream. I never found the answers.

Today, I was set to meet with Garen and the Prince, along with some Demacian summoners, in two hours to discuss various strategies in the Fields of Justice. I loathed these meetings. Though I was a brilliant spy and a paragon of "Demacian excellence," Garen and the others never listened to me and any idea I brought to the table was met with laughter and looks and remarks from the summoners that were similar to the ones you'd give to a puppy bringing in a dead squirrel. Cute, but useless and irritating. Not taken seriously. I hate not being taken seriously. I protested going to these meetings, but "my illuminating presence is good for the morale of Demacia." What am I, some cheerleader? A piece of eye candy for the Commandoes? I, who braved Noxus' deepest tunnels to obtain information critical to the Noxian-Ionian conflict, who could disappear in plain sight and vaporize entire squads of soldiers with blinding light, am no more than a trophy for Demacia's mantle. Though I am not vain about any of my accomplishments, I simply did what had to be done, my assignments given by Demacian command. It would be nice to have some respect.

Speaking of my brother, I miss our childhood. We spent every minute together. He was my best friend, he beat up the boys who picked on me, held me when thunder shook our home and lightning obscured my vision. When I reunited with him, he was completely different. His carefree grin is hardened into a deadpan line, his teeth grit for battle. He is now serious all the time; he has crafted a perfect persona for the Might of Demacia, a perfect example of the dauntless vanguard for the King. It is sickening to think he was ever different from Valoran's idea of him now. Though I can't judge him too harshly for I too have fallen into a character, the bright cheerful breath of fresh air of the Commandos. Ever positive, a cunning mistress of light on the battlefield, whose smile is dual purpose, delight to serve Demacia and to illuminate her enemies to their extinction.

In reality, I feel very much alone, a single beacon of light in a room of darkness. I am the last bit of ember surrounded by ashes. Some days, the loneliness is almost overbearing, I struggle to get out of bed and fight the urge to cry. I feel purposeless and empty, a hollow shell, a tool for Demacia. I just want to run, but they would find me and I think of the people who write to me, fans of the Lady of Luminosity, their kind words help me believe I am doing something good and even though I joined the league for Demacia, I feel like I am doing something for me.

After donning my armor, I pick up my baton and spin it in my fingers. Tiny sparks of light bounce and dance from its edges, scattering prismatic beams across the white walls of my apartment. I smile weakly at the display before sliding the baton into its holster. I make my way to the door with careful steps, still groggy, though I've been awake for two hours.

Strolling down the hallway, the institute is still, not many champions or summoners are up at dawn. I pass Leona's room and see through the window that she is meditating in full golden armor, the circlet of the sun resting on her auburn hair. I pass by noiselessly, careful not to disturb the Radiant Dawn. She has a purpose; she is the avatar of her people's deity. She was chosen for this calling, not taken. I've always been a bit jealous both of her physical appearance and of her abilities to control light, which rival my own. One day I would speak to her. I told myself that, though I never had gotten around to it. Though I shine brightly on the battlefield, I am really shy around casual conversation, and have very few people I consider acquaintances, even fewer I call friends.

Speaking of friends, the Night Hunter approaches me, no doubt back from one of her hunts that gave her that title.

"Vayne," I say softly, "Long night?"

Behind her red tinted glasses, Shauna Vayne's eyes narrow. "I could say the same for you. Bags are an unwelcome sight on your face. Nightmares again?" Vayne and I were always close; our houses were near each other and she was the only girl in my school who never bullied me. After Garen left, she was the only friend I had in Demacia. I will never forgive myself for not being there when her parents were murdered. She'll never know that though. We were confidants, she told me of her hunts and many other things that no one else knew. Where the summoners failed to penetrate her mind in her judgment, I had succeeded by her own volition, of course.

"Yeah," I admit dejectedly, "same one," she knows what I mean. Me being taken from my parents, thrown in a dark truck and carted off to the Demacian military academy like cattle, bred for perfection in the magical arts and espionage. I sigh, exhausted still, and sit in the hallway, my friend joining me, placing her crossbow against the wall next to us.

"You've come a long way from being that scared little girl," Vayne says with a hint of self-reflection in her voice, "remember that." She places her hand on my shoulder, her normally stoic expression cracking into a caring smile.

"Vayne?" I ask, afraid to continue, but my curiosity overwhelmed my anxiety, "Do you ever, you know, dream of that night?" The Night Hunter grimaces. "Sorry," I apologize quickly, not meaning to offend my friend.

"It's alright, and yes. That's part of the reason I hunt at night. Nightmares are less terrifying when you wake in daylight," she explains in a pained voice, "I need rest, but I will check on you after your meeting with Garen and the others." She stands up and picks up her crossbow, her cape whipping as she sharply turns the corner.

I will ponder those words all day. I make my way to the meeting, my greaves clicking softly against the cobblestone hallway floor.


End file.
